


Say No More

by durinsprinces



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Face-Fucking, Fights, M/M, Make up sex, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/durinsprinces/pseuds/durinsprinces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders kicks Mitchell out after an argument, which makes a good excuse to have make up sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say No More

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt for an anon, thanks anon. 
> 
> sorry it took so goddamn long.  
> and sorry it's so goddamn long.  
> but y'all know me. 
> 
> enjoy.

Okay, Anders honestly didn’t mean to kick Mitchell out. Well, in a way he did. But he didn’t actually  _want_ him to leave. He just.

Anders was never good with conflict. Of any kind.

With his brothers, it’s easy to play off his nerves from confrontation while he figures out what they want him to do. But with Mitchell, Anders could never figure out what Mitchell wants.

Mitchell is an anomaly Anders can’t seem to wrap his mind around. With his lows that swing so low they almost touch the bottom. With his highs that soar like a bird over a mountain. He almost never submits to Bragi. He plays things up when he wants to and plays coy when he’s trying to keep something to himself.

He’s got so many secrets woven into him that Anders can’t even begin to find the right string to pull to make him unravel.

He finds Mitchell so irritating. And yet, he can’t help but find himself being more entwined into Mitchell’s life day by day. Or more honestly, ensnared in his perfectly constructed web.

But when they fight, and fuck do they.

Someone always says something they know they’ll regret later.

And Anders shouting at Mitchell to get the fuck out of his apartment definitely falls in that category.

But Mitchell shouldn’t have pushed him so far. And he shouldn’t have said what he said.

He doesn’t _want_ to introduce Mitchell to his brothers. He doesn’t even want them to know Mitchell _exists_.

* * *

 

_“Take me with you next time,” Mitchell leaned against the counter, watching Anders open a bottle of vodka. He already smelled of alcohol, which meant Mike’s bar had been the chosen place for yet another meeting._

_And these meetings only seemed to come more and more frequently. Far more frequently than Mitchell’s liking. They made him nervous. Anders so rarely came back in a good state from these meetings._

_Mitchell_ hated _how Anders looked when he got home from Mike’s. He always looked so exhausted. Just being in the presence of his brothers was enough to drain days’ worth of rest from Anders’ body and mind. And it always took just as long to get him back to his normal self again. He would get jumpy, irritable, irrational, and sometimes downright mean._

_Most of their fights took place after Anders got back from a family meeting._

_Anders barely spared a glance at Mitchell as he unscrewed the cap from the bottle of vodka. “Not a fucking chance.”_

_Mitchell couldn’t help but bristle at Anders’ reply. “Why the fuck not?”_

_Anders poured himself a generous drink and immediately downed half of it. “You don’t need to know them.”_

_“Oh, yeah?” Mitchell countered, his voice already taking on a bitter tone. “So you just get to decide that for me?”_

_“Yes,” Anders finished his glass and refilled it once it was empty. “I do. They’re my family. And you don’t need to know them.”_

_Mitchell eyed the now full glass in Anders’ hand. “That’s hardly fair,” he pointed out, his voice growing harsher with every sentence._

_“Yeah, well that’s life,” Anders gave a shrug and raised the glass to his lips. Mitchell couldn’t stop himself as he reached out and snatched Anders’ arm, pulling it away from his mouth. Vodka splashed over the sides of the glass and spilled down Anders’ hand._

_“Wow, thanks for that, asshole. Let go of me,” Anders growled and tried to yank his arm away, effectively spilling more alcohol on the floor._

_The grip on his arm only got stronger as he struggled. “I’m not going to watch you get drunk every single time you deal with your brothers!” Mitchell’s voice rose to a shout. He hadn’t even meant to be that loud._

_Anders’ eyes were fixed on the hand gripping his skin and bones far too tight. But the sound of Mitchell yelling at him made him stop his struggling, his eyes snapping up to his face faster than Mitchell ever thought he’d seen them._

_“Then fucking look away.”_

_Mitchell stared at Anders. At the intensity in those blue eyes, now filled with a fire that burned from years and years of anger and words that he never spoke. And beyond that, Mitchell could see pure, unadulterated_ hate _directed at_ him _._

_And there was something about that look, something about being the emotional punching bag Anders used every time he got home from_ anything _that involved Anders’ family, that had the words spilling out of his lips before he had a chance to even think about what he was saying._

_“Fine,” Mitchell narrowed his eyes and dropped Anders arm almost violently. “You wanna be a drunk just like your daddy, go ahead.”_

_Regret instantly swallowed him whole the second he watched hurt flood into Anders’ eyes. “Jesus, Anders, I—“_

_“Get out.”_

_Mitchell froze. His body felt like ice. The words were even colder in his ear._

_“Anders—“_

_“Get out!”_

_Mitchell had never seen rage in Anders’ eyes like this before. He took a hesitant step away from him just as Anders took a step forward. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, asshole!”_

_Mitchell turned quickly and fled the kitchen to the front door without saying anything else. He knew it would only make it worse at this point._

_Anders watched him go, the door shutting quietly behind him._

_It still sounded as if it had been slammed, the noise resonating so loudly inside his body._

_Anders slumped forward for a moment, trying to stop the noise from replaying over Mitchell’s words. But they were stuck on loop in his mind. Over and over they played like a broken disc, skipping the same line until he couldn’t take it anymore._

_A strangled noise left Anders’ throat. One he would never admit to making._

_He brought the drink to his lips, but the second he smelled the vodka, Mitchell’s words only screamed louder in his ears._

_“Fuck!” Anders wheeled around in the kitchen before he threw the glass of alcohol against the wall. The glass shattered with a deafening noise, smashing into tiny shards that rained down to the floor._

_He’s not his father! He’s not his dad… He’s not…_

_Anders slid down to the floor, feeling like his own body was shattering into as many pieces as the glass had._

_How was he supposed to put himself back together? He felt so broken, and still the world kept trying to pour more into him._

_Anders cradled his head in his hands, raising his legs up to tuck his head between them. His joints creaked in protest of the position he’d long gotten out of the habit of hiding from the world in. How long had it been since he last sat like this?_

_But comfort flooded his system from it all the same. And despite the pain if brought, it eased the words in his mind and the ache in his body._

* * *

 

_Mitchell paced the hallway of the small building. He knew Anders told him to leave, but if he left the building he wouldn’t be able to get back in. And he doesn’t want to leave Anders alone. At least from here, he could hear what Anders was doing._

_The sound Anders made, Mitchell couldn’t even believe Anders could make. It almost didn’t sound human; a mixture of a pained cry and an angry growl. It sounded wrong in Mitchell’s ears. And it was all his fault. He pulled that noise from Anders’ body._

_The curse that followed was no easier for him to hear._

_His heart shattered when the sound of glass breaking reverberated through his bones._

_Mitchell closed his eyes and shook his head, regret and hurt welling up faster and stronger than he could handle. He wanted to pound on Anders’ door and beg him to listen. Beg him that he’s sorry. Beg him to believe him that he didn’t mean it. That Anders is nothing like his father. That he was just so scared one day he’s going to lose Anders to the tidal wave of his suffering._

_He’s just so scared all the time._

_Because he loves him._

_He has never loved anyone in his life the way he loves Anders._

_No one has understood him the way Anders seemed to. No one has loved him the way Anders does._

_He just wanted to go back and shove the words back down into his body. Shove them back into the poisonous pit deep inside of him._

_But he couldn’t._

_And he couldn’t comfort Anders right now, which is what he wanted to do most of all. He fucked up. He fucked up so hard, and Anders may never be able to forgive him._

_Mitchell slowly slid his body down the wall in the corridor, listening to the sharp intakes of breath Anders’ made._

_God, what he would give if he could just put the air back in Anders’ lungs._

* * *

 

Anders can’t let his family know about Mitchell.

If his brothers knew Mitchell existed they would shred them both, flesh from bone. They would tear apart their entire relationship and lay it out in front of them for everyone to see, pointing out everything disgusting and wrong with it.

They would use Mitchell like they use him.

They would hurt Mitchell, just like they hurt him.

He doesn’t want them to know about Mitchell, because he doesn’t want Mitchell to get hurt. As hard as it is for him to say or even admit, Anders _does_ love Mitchell. More than he really should. More than he really wants to most of the time.

But he does.

And the last thing he wants, is for his brothers to ruin the only thing good in his life.

He can handle what they do to him. And he knows Mitchell could, too. But he doesn’t want him to have to handle it. And he doesn’t want him to get sick of dealing with it. Because he’ll leave him. He’ll get so sick of his brother’s shit, and so sick of Anders’ shit.

And Mitchell will finally realize he isn’t worth his time.

Anders slowly unfolds himself from his spot on the kitchen floor. His body feels so stiff and he’s not sure how long he sat there. But he needs to clean up his mess.

And the glass.

Anders grunts as he picks himself up, eyeing the shards scattered all over the floor. With a heavy sigh, he goes off in search for a broom.

Once all the glass is swept off the floor and dumped in the trash and the alcohol wiped from the tile, Anders eyes the bottle of vodka. His mind is still swimming from the alcohol he consumed, but he must have sat on the floor long enough to sober up some.

He knows better than anyone that he drinks. Probably a little too much some times.

But he’s not a _drunk._ And he’s not his father, either. He’d never raise his fist at his brothers. He’d never hit Mitchell when he’s angry. He’s not his father.

His throat constricts tightly at the thought of Mitchell using his past as a means to hurt him. Throwing it back in his face so carelessly. He hadn’t told him about his childhood just so it could be used to hurt and guilt him.

He already hurts enough from it.

Still, kicking Mitchell out was a terrible and rash decision that he wishes he could take back. He should be talking to him right now. Not that he’s very good at that part. But he can’t work anything out with Mitchell roaming fuck knows where in the city.

But even if Mitchell was still here, Anders isn’t sure how he would even go about trying to fix this. He feels betrayed. Every single fiber of his being feels so betrayed.

Anders trusted Mitchell.

An Anders doesn’t give his trust lightly.

The clock ticks on and he slowly sinks into the seat at the table.

He has no idea what to do. He’s never been good with conflict.

* * *

 

Mitchell listens to the sound of Anders cleaning. He listens to the sound of glass being emptied into the bin. He listens to the way his feet move. How they move sluggishly, hesitantly. He knows Anders is deep in thought. That’s the sound he makes when he’s lost in his mind, still moving on autopilot.

When Anders takes a seat at the kitchen table, instead of going to bed, Mitchell feels a small spark of hope.

Anders is waiting for him.

He’s not sure if he should knock. Or if he should just wait.But he wants to play it safe, so he stays where he is, listening to the sound of Anders breathing.

The evenness of it brings him an odd comfort.

The thought of Anders panicking alone is enough to make him feel sick with his own anxiety.

* * *

 

It feels like an eternity.

Mitchell knows it’s more than likely only been an hour.

But it felt like forever.

And he can’t help himself when he pushes off the floor at the sound of the kitchen chair scraping against tile.

His hand reaches out to knock on the door before he can stop himself.His body nearly shakes from his nerves when he hears Anders’ stop walking.

Fuck, and it feels like an eternity for those feet to start moving again.Moving towards the door. They stop again, as if weighing the worth of opening it and letting Mitchell back in.

Mitchell feels like he’s choking when he tries to breathe.

_Fuck, Anders. Please just open the door._

* * *

 

Anders considers calling Mitchell.

But he’s not even sure if he has his phone on him. And even if he called, what would he say? Begging him to come home is beneath him, no matter how guilty he may feel about kicking him out to begin with.

Not to mention how lonely he feels without him here.

Not that he would _ever_ mention it.

Anders stood from the table, resolve slowly crumbling around him. He should just go to bed. Maybe he’ll think of something to say tomorrow, when he’s less exhausted.

It’ll be strange sleeping in his bed without Mitchell there, but he did it for so long before he’d met him.

And maybe it would be nice to have the bed all to himself again. Mitchell’s dragon toenails always scratch him in his quest to put his ice cold feet somewhere warm. And God, does he drool all over everything.

And, _no_ , he would _not_ miss those things tonight.

Anders passes the door just as a loud knock startles him. His heart speeds up as he turns towards it. Part of him, the childish part, really just wants to ignore it and pretend he didn’t hear it. It would serve Mitchell right.

But his hand reaches out before he can stop himself and he opens the door slowly.

Mitchell stands before him, messy hair looking even more tangled than usual. As if he’d been tugging on it for the last two hours. Knowing Mitchell, Anders is sure that’s exactly what he was doing. Mitchell always pulls and tugs and yanks his hair when he’s upset.

He looks almost terrified that Anders opened the door. It washes away in relief, which is quickly shoved aside as the guilt returns.

Mitchell’s mouth opens to say something, just as Anders’ does.

“You came back,” Anders breathes out, his chest tightening around his lungs.

Mitchell’s shoulders sag at Anders’ voice, swallows past the lump in his throat. It’s so strange, but the hope in Anders’ voice makes him hurt worse than the anger that laced his tone not long ago.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the sound of hope directed at him. He made Anders hurt and, still, Anders had worried about _him._

“I never left.”

The words have Anders’ heart swelling inside his chest, making it even harder to breathe. Mitchell sat outside the door for two hours? Would he have sat outside all night?

“Anders, I’m so sorry,” Mitchell rushes out, afraid Anders will slam the door in his face. He knows he deserves it. He really does. He just wants Anders to know before he decides to leave Mitchell out here all night, where he should be.

Anders looks at him, looks in those eyes full of sorrow and remorse. There’s not a hint of a lie in them and he knew there wouldn’t be. He hasn’t seen Mitchell look this guilty in a long, long time.

“I know.”

Anders pushes the door open the rest of the way, a silent invitation for Mitchell to come back in. When Mitchell stays where he is, Anders cocks a brow. “What are you doing?”

Mitchell stares at Anders, wondering if he’s trying to be funny. “I can’t come in without an invitation, you _know_ that.”

Anders looks at him, his eyebrow slowly lowering. “Mitchell, this is your home. I know I haven’t gotten you a key yet. I keep meaning to, but, this is _your_ _home_. You don’t need an invitation to come into your own apartment, right?”

Mitchell swears he can feel something lift from his shoulders with the words. As if they were actually breaking the spell that keeps him from being able to enter people’s houses.

Mitchell swears he can feel his heart beat.

This is _his_ home?

He knows the thought is stupid and irrational. His stuff is here. He sleeps here. He eats and showers and does everything people normally do in their homes, here. But he never thought of it as his home until now. It was always Anders’ place.

From the day Anders first invited him in to stay, Mitchell hadn’t left the apartment without him. He hadn’t come back in without Anders. And he never thought to try and leave it; that tiny spark of fear that he wouldn’t be able to get back in always stopping him from trying.

God, he’s so stupid.

Of course this is his home.

Mitchell steps across the threshold of the door, listening to the sound of Anders closing it softly behind him. It feels so good to be back in the apartment. So good to be back inside his home.

And then he remembers why he had to leave it.

Mitchell turns to Anders, his body wilting in shame.

“I really didn’t mean what I said. I just get so mad when I see how fucked up you get after you spend any amount of time with your brothers. I worry about you. And I really shouldn’t have said that. I’m really, really sorry, Anders.”

It’s instinct for Anders to want to cut Mitchell off, but the way he rambles on and so quickly keeps him from doing it. Mitchell won’t be able to listen until he gets it off his chest. His words trail off quietly, his eyes refusing to meet Anders’.

He’s always loved that about him. Loved that whenever Mitchell feels guilty, he refuses to make eye contact like a dog that knows they’re in trouble.

It softens his heart.

Though the betrayal still tastes like cigarette ash in his mouth.

“I know,” Anders repeats when he’s sure Mitchell is done. “But you don’t need to worry about me. They’ve been like this my whole life. I never needed anyone to protect me before, and I don’t need it now.”

Mitchell shoves his hands in his pockets. “I know you don’t. But I _want_ to be there for you. I want to be there _with_ you.”

Anders sighs. “I think it’s a shit idea, Mitchell. They’ll rip you apart.”

Mitchell’s head snaps up. “I don’t care! They rip you apart every time you go! At least I’ll be there to help put you back together…” The last few words come out in a quiet mumble, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment over how cheesy it sounds. His eyes dart back down to the floor.

“That may have been the gayest thing you’ve ever said,” Anders’ voice is so serious that Mitchell can’t help but crack a sheepish smile.

“Kinda was, wasn’t it?”

It still makes his heart hammer hard against his ribs that Mitchell wants to be there for him. That he wants to help hold him together when the rest of the world only wants to tear him apart at the seams. Anders lets out another sigh. He hates this part. This part where he _knows_ he has something he has to apologize for. Something he needs to own up to and actually say the words. He hates apologizing. It always feels so awkward and irritated and… He hates apologizing.

But he wants him and Mitchell to work. He wants them to be together, and letting his pride stand in their way won’t do anything but drive a wedge between them.

So he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for treating you like shit. Every time. I know I do,” Anders cuts him off, knowing Mitchell is about to argue otherwise. “It’s why you said it. That doesn’t make what you said _right,_ but I know why you did.”

Mitchell pulls his hands out of his pockets. “I know you don’t want to take me with you, and I can’t make you. But I really think I should go,” Mitchell tells him after a second, ignoring the apology as he knows Anders prefers him to do. If he gloated now, he’s sure he’ll get a one way ticket right out the front door. “But if you won’t take me, can’t you at least, I don’t know,” Mitchell glances away. “You can always talk to me about it.”

Anders can’t help but wince. _Talking about it_. He would almost prefer just taking Mitchell with him to _talking_.

Almost.

“I’ll think about it,” Anders replies carefully, keeping his tone diplomatic. Mitchell pushes down his irritation at his words.

This is all he’s going to get tonight, and he knows better than to push the issue. Maybe next time. “I’ll take what I can get,” Mitchell shrugs and moves aside for Anders to move towards his bedroom, blue eyes rolling at him as he passes.

“So, am I like,” Mitchell follows after him a few paces. “Am I banished to the couch or am I still allowed in bed?”

Anders snorts a little. “Does it really matter? I’d still hear you snoring from the couch.”

Mitchell scowls down at him. “I don’t snore.”

“I’d take a video, but, well,” Anders shrugs. “Would the sound still capture?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Mitchell shrugs a shoulder and follows behind Anders into the bedroom. He almost takes a step back when Anders turns towards him, crowding his space.

“I think I have a great way to test that theory,” he gives Mitchell a dirty smirk, his hands reaching out to hold Mitchell’s waist, slowly pushing him back against the wall of their bedroom.

Mitchell can’t believe how fast Anders can go from downright upset to beyond ready to fuck in a matter of a seconds. But those hands edging his shirt up has his thoughts quickly being taken over by a much more interesting idea.

Even so, he can’t help himself.

“Really, Anders? Now?” Mitchell barely has the chance to get the words out as Anders tugs the shirt off of his body. He drops it carelessly to the floor behind him.

A warm mouth presses against his throat, teeth scraping against his skin. “You’ve got me curious. I want to know if I’ll be able to hear you begging for my cock if I film us.”

Mitchell’s head falls back against the wall as a knee pushes between his legs, spreading them wide.

“You won’t,” Mitchell groans out, his brain trying to form sentences as those lips move up to his jaw. They stop leaving a wet trail of little bites and kisses and Anders pulls away from the crook of his neck.

“What? How do you know? You just said you didn’t,” Anders points out, his face turning into something Mitchell would almost describe as a _pout_. Not that he would say that out loud. Anders might stake him on the spot.

“That’s because it won’t be me begging for it,” Mitchell gives Anders no time to process his words, his hands darting out to lift him up by the back of his thighs, hauling his body up. The perfect slide of their cocks through their jeans has Mitchell growling before dumping Anders onto the bed.

His eyes bleed to black as he takes in the sight of Anders below him, wide blue eyes still trying to take everything in as his brain attempts to catch up. He looks helpless and almost frightened, but there’s still a spark of lust in those wide eyes that drives Mitchell wild.

Anders’ mind catches up and he pushes at him playfully. “Alright, calm down, Dracula.”

Mitchell moves to sit up a little, his eyes slowly clearing. “You still want to get that camera?”

“Well, unless you’d like to be proven wrong when you find out you do _snore_ , then I think you might want to rethink what’s about to happen,” Anders moves quickly, rolling Mitchell onto his back and sliding into his lap.

“Oh, so you’re going to ride me while begging for it?” Mitchell cocks his head to the side, a playful smirk tugging his lips. He licks them teasingly. “I could definitely go for that.”

Hands keep Anders locked into place as he tries to move off his lap. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll tell you how much of a filthy slut you are the entire time you beg for me to let you come, just like you like,” Mitchell nearly purrs at him, his hips rocking up against Anders’ ass.

Anders’ dick twitches in his slacks, no doubt starting to leak all over his briefs. His body feels almost too hot, even as cold hands slip up his shirt. He can’t help himself when he meets Mitchell’s hips, his ass grinding down on Mitchell’s cock.

“Fuck,” he groans out as he sets a steady rhythm, his hands reaching down to start unbuttoning his shirt. “You really do deserve to sleep on the couch.”

Mitchell frowns up at him, one hand reaching up to pinch a nipple hard between his fingers. Anders lets out a tiny yelp, but his chest pushes against Mitchell’s hand all the same.

“But if I sleep on the couch, who’s going to keep you warm through the night?”

Anders barks out a laugh. “Fuck, like you do that even when you _are_ sleeping in the bed.”

Mitchell drags his nails over Anders’ nipple, feeling the vibrations of him shuddering beneath his fingertips. “So, you gonna set up that camera or what?”

Anders bites his bottom lip, his hips slowing to a stop. “I have no idea where it is,” he admits, a tiny hint of disappointment in his voice. His eyes sparkle when they rove over the room for an alternative, eyes catching on just the perfect thing. “Hand me my laptop,” he points towards the bedside table.

Mitchell’s eyes follow Anders’ hand, his body turning as he reaches for it. Anders fingertips trace over the muscles idly as he waits. Mitchell lets out a little snicker, his body twitching at the ticklish feeling of fingers on his ribs. He grabs the laptop and turns back to Anders, handing it to him carefully. He knows how Anders can get with his things.

Hands take the laptop from Mitchell, quickly opening it before setting it right down on Mitchell’s bare stomach.

He yelps and flinches as the freezing metal on his skin. “Jesus, that’s fuckin’ cold!”

Anders arches a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “How would _you_ even know?”

The scowl he gets is reward enough for his taunt. The pouting that follows is a nice bonus. Anders powers on the computer and starts to roll his hips against Mitchell’s again, watching the pout turn into a look of want and desperation at the feeling.

Once the laptop boots up, Anders opens the webcam and lays it down on the pillow, adjusting the angle a bit before he presses record.

It’s strange. All he sees is himself, legs stretched over an invisible body, hips rocking back on nothing. “That’s fucking weird,” he blinks at the laptop before looking down at Mitchell. His neck craning to look at the screen. Anders grabs his face and turns it back towards him. “I’m over here.”

Mitchell smiles at him as he places his hands on Anders’ hips, moving them a little bit quicker over his cock. “We should get you out of those pants,” he tells him, tilting his head a little as Anders nods. His fingers work the belt free, quickly popping the button. Anders’ hands move to mirror Mitchell’s unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down.

He climbs off of Mitchell’s lap long enough to pull off his slacks and briefs, kicking out of them almost too fast. Mitchell pretends not to notice the slight stumble, keeping the small snicker he wants to make to himself. Irritating Anders right before sex is never a good idea. Mitchell hates jerking off alone in the bathroom. It just feels so shameful and demoralizing.

Mitchell hopes the webcam picked it up at least. He’s going to want to point it out to him later.

His hands push at Mitchell’s jeans while Anders drags them from his hips, crawling back on the bed once they’re off. Anders licks his lips at the sight of Mitchell’s cock, hard and leaking between his legs, begging for attention. Begging to be swallowed down.

Anders moves in between Mitchell’s legs, lowering himself to tease the slit with his tongue, lapping up the precome as he looks up at Mitchell. With a wicked, little smirk, he swallows Mitchell all the way down, burying his nose in the dark curls nestled around his cock. His eyes never leave Mitchell’s face as he swirls his tongue around the base and swallows around the head.

“Jesus, Anders,” Mitchell breathes out, his hips gently rocking upwards into his mouth. It’s so hot and inviting and he loves the way it constricts around him. His hands bury in Anders’ short hair, giving a soft tug to even softer strands.

Anders pulls almost all the way off before quickly taking him back down his throat again, listening to the quiet groan Mitchell gives him. His hips continue to press into his mouth, trying to bury himself even deeper in Anders’ throat.

“Fuck,” Mitchell bites his lip as he watches Anders, those blue eyes so intense and locked on his. “You’re always so good at sucking my cock,” Mitchell smiles down at him, smoothing his fingers through Anders’ hair.

Anders drags his tongue along the underside as he pulls away, opening his mouth to breathe. He flicks his tongue against the slit again, a small noise of pleasure leaving his throat at the taste of Mitchell in his mouth.

“Anders,” Mitchell calls down to him, hands moving from the top of his head down to the side of his face. He cups them gently and gives a little tug, smiling as Anders comes with them. The smile is swallowed as lips press against his own. Mitchell opens his mouth just as Anders licks at his teeth, tongue teasing over the bottom row before he tilts his head.

Mitchell’s hands slide down Anders’ face, to his shoulders and down his back as far as he can reach. His body is so soft and smooth beneath his fingers. His nails drag over the skin, leaving tiny, red marks that make Anders moan into his mouth.

Mitchell isn’t sure how he knows. Maybe Anders doesn’t. Just knows what he wants for himself.

Pulling away from Mitchell’s mouth, Anders pushes up to his knees, moving forward to straddle his shoulders. He brushes the tip of his cock against his lips, watching him open them. Mitchell’s tongue flicks out, catching the bead of precome leaking down the tip.

Mitchell’s hands move around Anders’ hips to cup his ass, pulling his cock into his mouth. His throat opens quickly as Anders pushes the rest of the way forward, hips already pulling out again to thrust into his mouth.

His left hand leaves Anders’ ass as he starts to move, reaching blindly for the bedside table in search of lube. Anders’ fingers thread into his hair, giving a tiny yank on the wild curls as he thrusts back into Mitchell’s waiting throat.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” he mumbles as Mitchell swallows around him. He swallows again, smirking around Anders’ cock at the tiny groan he earns for it. His fingers find the bottle of lube, sides perpetually sticky from use. His nose wrinkles at the feeling as he drags it forward and grabs it up.

Anders’ body gives a shudder as he hears the bottle popping open. Part of him wants to pull out of Mitchell’s mouth and turn him over, before he has the chance to get his fingers inside him and make him melt.

But as lube covered fingers brush over his hole, Mitchell swallows around him again and Anders realizes he’s already melted. He lets himself relax, his hips stilling as Mitchell nudges the tip of a finger inside him.

His hands grip tighter to Mitchell’s hair as the long finger slides inside his ass, his hips pressing back against Mitchell’s hand for more before sliding back down his throat again. Fuck, he loves that Mitchell doesn’t have to breathe.

A second finger presses against his hole, teasing it with the tip before sliding it inside perfectly next to the other. Anders groans as Mitchell opens him up quickly on his fingers, both so eager to feel him stretched wide on Mitchell’s cock. The hand on Anders’ ass moves up to Anders’ hip, slowly beginning to rock them for him again. Mitchell moans around the dick in his throat, loving the feeling of his face being fucked when Anders starts thrusting again.  

The third finger stretches him so nicely, Anders’ hips stuttering in the rhythm Mitchell set for him. With a knowing twist, Mitchell moves his wrist so his fingers drag perfectly against Anders’ prostate over and over. A loud whine accompanies the sound of Anders’ hurriedly pushing back into Mitchell’s mouth, down his throat, forcing a small gag from him.

Anders smiles at his triumph. It’s rare for him to make Mitchell gag, but he loves the sound.

He smooths the hair away from Mitchell’s eyes and watches his face as he glances up at him, his fingers now spreading Anders’ hole wide open. Anders shoves back, forcing them just a little deeper, before pulling out completely.

Mitchell licks the spit off of his lips, tongue catching a taste of Anders’ cock as he pulls his fingers free. His eyes trace over his body as Anders shuffles back on the bed, legs straddling Mitchell’s hips. Reaching down behind Anders’ ass, Mitchell grabs his cock to slick the last of the lube over it. He holds it still as Anders’ presses up to his knees and hovers over it.

They both love and hate this part. The part where it feels like eternity until Anders is completely stretched and filled with Mitchell. How long it takes, inch by inch, until he’s shoved deep inside him, feeling every breath and beat of his heart through his cock. 

Mitchell moves his hand away for Anders to take the last few inches, his breath shuddering as he feels Mitchell’s cock twitch inside his body.

No matter how many times Anders fucks Mitchell, lets Mitchell fuck him, he’ll never get over how cool his skin feels. Inside him, being inside him. He grinds his hips a little, shuddering at the feeling of Mitchell’s thighs on his skin.

“Fuck, it’s like shoving an ice pop up my ass,” Anders groans out, watching Mitchell’s eyebrows knotting together in slight irritation.

“It’s nowhere near that fuckin’ cold, Anders,” Mitchell rocks his hips up as Anders rolls his own, circling them in a way that makes Mitchell forget the slight against him.

Mitchell moves his hands over Anders’ small hips, feeling the way the bones move underneath his skin when he circles them a little faster. God, he could watch him do this all day; Anders slowly fucking himself on his cock.

Anders shifts his weight to his knees, hands flattening against Mitchell’s chest as he starts to lift his ass off Mitchell’s cock. He can feel the intake of breath underneath his palms, and he smiles at the vibrations of the tiny groan Mitchell makes when he drops himself back down on his cock again.

He shifts once more, this time lifting himself just a little farther up, the tip of Mitchell’s cock nudging against his prostate before he sits back down in his lap just as slowly.

It’s a tease. A slow torture.

A punishment for the words Mitchell should have never said, in the way Anders knows how to punish him best.

And Mitchell will pay penance if that’s the price to ease the hurt look still in Anders’ eyes when they look down into his own.

The hand on his chest sits heavy over his heart, pulse racing against the speed of his own. He wonders if pain can be transferable. He thinks he can feel the pain in the beat of Anders’ heart seeping through his hand, soaking into Mitchell’s skin and bones.

As Anders lifts himself up and drops back down again, Mitchell knows why Anders was so ready to give into his lust and let it eat him alive for the night.

He’s hoping it’ll eat the pain, too.

Mitchell feels the endless, ever present shame welling up in him as he watches Anders pick up speed, the angles of his body catching perfectly in the dim light of their bedroom. The way he rolls his spine in the exact way that drives Mitchell wild.

Mitchell’s eyes slide shut again at the look in Anders’ eyes.

If this is how he wants to forget, Mitchell will forget with him.

Mitchell’s fingers drag over the skin of Anders’ hips and up to his sides, his body soft and pliable under them. He wants to sink his nails into him. He wants to rip him apart and rebuild him again. Rebuild him with all the parts put back in the right place. Throw away all the hurt and suffering Anders has ever felt.

His nails scrape gently across his ribs, leaving tiny red marks in their wake. “You’re so beautiful when you ride my cock, Anders,” Mitchell smirks up at him, feeling Anders’ fingertips digging into his chest in his response.

Between the two of them, they always have something to say. Someone is always filling the space with words and thoughts, as if it’s the only way to drown out the screaming in both of their minds.

And when Anders rides him like this, body starting to break into a heated sweat, lips parted in a shallow intake of breath, eyes fighting to stay open as he fucks himself down perfectly on Mitchell’s cock, Mitchell knows his mind has gone quiet. The only thing Bragi is whispering in Anders’ ear is beautiful poetry Mitchell only wishes he could hear for himself.

Anders moans when Mitchell grabs his waist and thrusts hard up into his body, his eyes finally slipping shut in pleasure. Mitchell knows he deserves to lay here for as long as Anders wants to punish him; let Anders fuck away the night until the bitter taste of betrayal is no longer thick on his tongue.

But his selfishness to feel Anders’ tight body take everything Mitchell wants to give grows harder and harder to deny.

When Anders lets out a tiny whine as Mitchell rocks up into him, the thread holding him back finally snaps. He grips him tight, growling loudly as he drags himself up and spins them around. Mitchell flattens Anders down on the bed in his haze of need and desperation, reveling in the look of pure desire in Anders’ eyes blowing his pupils wide.

Sometimes Mitchell thinks that look is better than any drug or blood he’s ever tasted. But then the memory of Anders’ blood dripping over his teeth and down his throat reminds him that nothing tastes better.

Mitchell bends down as he starts to thrust fast and hard into Anders’ eager body, opening up perfectly for him and his cock. His mouth dances across his throat, feeling the pulse tickle his lips as it, too, begins to beat fast and hard.

Mitchell hears Anders’ voice whining softly by his ear. The feeling of Mitchell’s cock dragging over his prostate with each movement of his hips is almost too much to bear. But he wants this to last as long as he can make it. Wants to feel Mitchell inside him always. Wants to always know he’s right here.

Teeth tease his skin, nipping little marks that will fade away with the night. Anders knows he just fed a few days ago and wonders how much of his own blood mingles with Mitchell’s in his heart. Two colors of red blending together with each beat, flooding them both through his veins.

Anders lets out a moan mixed with a sigh.

He gets tired of hearing Bragi talk.

Mitchell bites down a little harder and Anders rocks himself down to meet his thrust. Mitchell’s cock pulses inside him, hot and perfect and Anders grinds his hips down for more.

It gets him what he wants and Mitchell yanks his hips down into each of his thrusts, listening to each whimper Anders makes growing increasingly louder.

And even though he can almost get lost in it, Anders still can hear Bragi weaving words into pictures and rhymes in his head and he doesn’t want to hear it right now. He doesn’t want the metaphors and the similes and all the words in between he threads together into poetry.

No. He wants the only sound that echoes in his ear to be that of Mitchell’s voice, whispering his filth and sin right against the sensitive lobe before he bites down.

“Choke me,” Anders demands Mitchell, his eyes drawing over his body and up to his face. He watches those eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Are you—“

“Fucking choke me, Mitchell,” Anders growls up at him, tilting his chin back to entice him further.

Mitchell’s eyes bleed black the second his hand shoots up to wrap his long fingers around Anders’ throat. He can feel him swallowing beneath his palm. His cock twitches in Anders’ ass at the surge of power rushing through his veins.

Mitchell loves having Anders at his mercy.

His fingers tighten around his neck, palm pressing hard against his throat as he cuts off the airflow to Anders’ lungs. He pushes into him hard again, angling his hips so his cock presses right against his prostate. Anders struggles to breathe and Mitchell squeezes even tighter, feeling his chest heave for oxygen.

Haze and silence floods Anders mind and Mitchell watches the quiet peace enter his eyes as they glaze over. Mitchell knows Bragi is silent now. The need for air takes over Anders’ thoughts, leaving Bragi to sulk in his corner of Anders’ brain.

His hand loosens when those eyes slip shut. Anders body twitches as he takes in a sharp breath, oxygen rushing to every part of him. Mitchell’s fingers tighten again.

“Fuck, look at you, Anders,” Mitchell leans down and drags his teeth over Anders’ jaw, feeling the stubble underneath them. He thrusts harder still, loving the way Anders’ ass clenches around him at his words. “Open your mouth,” Mitchell growls into his ear, tongue slowly tracing up the skin. “I want to hear you try and beg me to let you breathe. I want you to beg me to make you come.”

Anders body shudders hard at the demand.

Mitchell knows how much Anders hates begging.

When Anders refuses to submit, Mitchell squeezes his throat tighter before letting up on his grip. “Beg me.”

Anders knows he’s fighting a losing battle. Mitchell could do this all night if that’s what he wanted. And part of him wants that too. But he needs to breathe eventually, and his need to come is making him desperate enough to consider giving in.

Mitchell’s hand on Anders’ hip slides down his thigh to grip his leg tight behind his knee. He lifts Anders’ leg, bending it towards his chest as he shoves himself as deep as he can inside Anders’ body.

Anders’ chokes on a whine at the feeling, his own cock leaking against his stomach in need and desire. His throat burns as he finally gives up. “Ple—“

It feels like sandpaper as he tries to speak. Mitchell lets up just a little more.

“Please, Mitchell,” Anders hates this. He hates and loves it like he hates and loves Mitchell.

“Please what?” Mitchell smirks down at him, grinding his hips against Anders’ ass before pulling out almost entirely. He thrusts back in roughly. The loud cry that Anders’ makes is music to his ears. It rises and falls and pauses for a rest, before repeating itself as Mitchell pulls out and shoves his cock back in even harder.

“Please what, Anders?” he growls down at him.

Anders licks his lips. Pride wounded as he looks anywhere but Mitchell’s eyes. “Please, make me come.” Anders denies the break in his voice.

“Look at me,” Mitchell demands. “I want to see those pretty eyes beg me too.”

Anders turns his head to the side, feeling the fingers squeezing his throat shut. When he thinks he can’t take it, when he thinks he’d rather just let Mitchell kill him, he finally turns back to Mitchell, his eyes looking up into his.

“Please, Mitch, I want you to make me come.” His eyes hold Mitchell’s, and he can see the pride and victory in them. It’s almost enough to make Anders’ reach out and rip them out. He hates when Mitchell gloats.

A smug smile tugs at Mitchell’s lips. “That’s all you had to do,” he tells him like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The hand drops from his throat and finds its own path down Anders’ body to his other leg. Lifting it quickly, Mitchell bends him in half and thrusts hard and fast into him, listening to every whine and whimper Anders makes.

Hands reach out, fingers threading into Mitchell’s hair. They yank harshly at his curls with each thrust Mitchell makes.

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time, and Anders thinks this is the feeling he really craves from sex. This teeter of in between, where everything is raw and sensitive and makes him forget about everything but _right now_.

But just like all things that bring him peace, it doesn’t last. His cock gives a heavy twitch as he cries out, spilling thick and hot onto his own stomach. Pleasure and fog clouds his mind and he lets himself sink into it just as Mitchell sinks into him, over and over until his own cry of pleasure slips through the mist.

Anders pants for air as Mitchell slowly rocks his hips a few more times, letting the tight muscles of Anders’ ass milk his cock for every last drop of come. Fingers slide from Mitchell’s hair the same time hands slowly lower Anders’ legs back down to the bed.

When Mitchell begins to fall from the high of his orgasm, the bitter taste of the night starts to settle heavy in his mouth again.

When he looks into Anders’ eyes, he can see the hurt there once more, and he knows he’s not been forgiven. He knows he won’t be forgiven for a long time to come. Once Anders’ trust was broken, it’s always nearly impossible to build back up again.

But Mitchell’s not afraid of a challenge. And he’s built it before, he can do it again.

Mitchell pulls out of Anders’ body, leaving him empty on the bed as he stands up to get a towel for them. He walks back into the bedroom, wiping himself down before giving the towel to Anders.

Anders crinkles his nose at him. Normally Mitchell finds it endearing, but given he’s done nothing wrong, he can’t help but frown. “What?”

“Why do you always give me your dirty cock towel?”

“I hardly even used it!” Mitchell’s frown turns into a scowl.

“ _Every single time_ you give me the towel of dick and ass. Why can’t I just use it first?”

“I used that one goddamn spot, Anders, just pick a different spot!”

“No,” Anders throws the towel back at Mitchell. “I want another one.”

“Are you serious?” Mitchell crosses his arms and Anders mockingly crosses his own.

“Yeah, I’m serious. Get me a clean fucking towel.”

Mitchell thinks about arguing. Thinks about picking up the towel and wrapping it around Anders’ throat and strangling him with it. But, he supposes this is payback for making him beg.

And he knows this is how Anders is going to cope with his anger and sadness over being hurt the way Mitchell hurt him.

His arms drop to his sides and he lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Fine, I’ll get you a new towel.” He turns and heads back into the bathroom, pulling a clean towel from the rack. He considers vindictively rubbing his cock all over it, but he knows Bragi can tell when he’s lying.

When he brings it back out, Anders is closing out of the webcam and powering off his laptop with his arm. Mitchell walks up next to him. “Aren’t you going to watch it now?”

Anders shrugs, shutting the laptop. “Nah, I’ll save it for later. Store it in the wank bank.” He pats his laptop and wiggles his eyebrows up at Mitchell.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Mitchell rolls his eyes and drops the towel on Anders’ chest.

“Woah!” Anders looks up at him, eyes going wide. “Aren’t you going to clean me up?”

Mitchell stares at him. Stares at him for what feels like an eternity. “…No?”

“Well why the fuck not?”

“You have hands,” Mitchell sighs in exasperation. “Use them.”

Anders stares back at him in contempt. “You have hands, too.”

“Anders, I’m not fucking wiping you off. Just do it yourself, Jesus.”

Mitchell isn’t unfamiliar with this. Anders trying to pull and push just to see how far he can drag Mitchell to the brink before he snaps again. Mitchell knows this is his way of testing the waters, fear no longer allowing him to jump right in.

But he’s not going to clean Anders’ now probably mostly dried come off of his body.

“Fine, but you better not have rubbed your lads all over it,” Anders narrows his eyes at him.

Mitchell snorts. “Thought about it, but no, I didn’t.”

Bragi detects no lie, and Anders finally wipes himself clean before dropping the towel to the floor. Right over Mitchell’s jeans, he notices with a grimace.

Sometimes he really hates how childish Anders can get.

But right now, he’s tired. Tired from not knowing when Anders would be home. Tired from not knowing how Anders would be _when_ he got home. Tired from their fight and their makeup sex. Tired from life in general. And he knows tomorrow is going to be long and rough.

Every little thing will be wrong and Anders will find creative new ways to push him past his limits. Sometimes he wonders why he puts up with this.

Sometimes he wonders why Anders puts up with him.

Mitchell flicks off the light and slides into the bed next to him, pulling the covers over himself just as Anders slips beneath them.

He almost feels awkward as he lies there beside Anders, wondering if it’s okay to curl around him like he does every night. Anders doesn’t quite call it cuddling, and Mitchell wouldn’t really call it that either.

He likes to think of it as protecting what is his. And keeping himself warm.

This feels like the first time they ever slept in the same bed together. The first time Anders didn’t kick him right out of his bed to sleep on the couch or leave or whatever he wanted to do that wasn’t in his general vicinity.

Anders rolls over on his side and moves a little closer and Mitchell thinks it’s a silent invitation. He turns to face him, his arm coming up to rest over his hip like it does every night. His chest presses against Anders’ back as he slots them together, the feeling is a comfort on a night like this.

Mitchell listens to the sound of Anders’ breathing, listening to the way it stays the same and even. He hasn’t fallen asleep yet, so something must be weighing heavily on his mind. That, or Bragi is making him write poetry about the thread count of their sheets again.

He wants to ask, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if it’s his place. And he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer.

But he doesn’t have to.

Anders shifts a little, swallowing before he opens his mouth. “I haven’t forgiven you,” he whispers and Mitchell wonders if Anders thinks he’s asleep.

“I know,” he whispers back, his breath tickling Anders’ neck. “I didn’t expect you to,” Mitchell tells him, his arm tightening a little around his hip.

“Good. Don’t,” Anders replies with that tone of voice that Mitchell despises and loves.

Mitchell sighs against his neck before he opens his mouth and nips at the skin. Anders hisses and tries to pull away, but Mitchell stops him as he laves his tongue over the sensitive skin.

“What the fuck was that for?” Anders growls at him, but makes no more efforts to try and get away.

“For being a brat.”

“I hate you,” Anders replies flatly. His voice drops off at the end and Mitchell can just _feel_ the partial, but honest truth to the words.

His eyes slip shut as he lets it sink in. “I know,” he whispers against his skin, giving it a small kiss before pulling his mouth away.

Anders doesn’t respond, and Mitchell says no more.

They were never any good at making up, but he thinks this is the best he’ll get for now. Tomorrow he’ll look through the ruins of the foundations they built, and slowly begin to piece it all back together brick by brick, stone by stone.

Mitchell wonders how fragile it’ll be this time.

He wonders when it will finally fall apart for good.

 

 


End file.
